Chapter 74

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our penthouse, casting golden patterns across the marble floors. I stretched beneath the silk sheets, my fingers brushing against the cold, empty space beside me. Nathaniel had left early again—another board meeting at Martin Group headquarters.

My phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand. Gabrielle's name flashed across the screen. "Evelyn, the client moved the presentation up to 10 AM. Gregory's already at the office reviewing the blueprints."

I groaned, throwing back the covers. Three hours of sleep wasn't nearly enough after last night's charity gala. The memory of Isabella's calculated smile across the ballroom still made my skin prickle. She'd clung to Nathaniel's arm like ivy on an oak tree, whispering God-knows-what in his ear while photographers snapped away.

The shower did little to wash away my unease. As steam fogged the mirrors, I traced the faint scar along my collarbone—a permanent reminder of the car accident that had nearly taken everything from me. From us.

"Alfred?" I called out, wrapping myself in a plush robe. The scent of freshly brewed coffee led me to the kitchen where our butler stood arranging breakfast. "Has Mr. Martin called?"

"Not yet, madam." His weathered hands paused over the silverware. "Though Mr. Yates did ring to say the Tokyo acquisition is proving... complicated."

I sipped the espresso, its bitterness mirroring my mood. Complicated. That word seemed to define our entire marriage these days. Between Nathaniel's mounting responsibilities and Isabella's sudden reappearance in New York, the foundation we'd painstakingly rebuilt felt shakier than ever.

My phone chimed again—a text from Charlotte: "Saw the society pages. That viper's fangs are showing again. Lunch at Le Bernardin? 1 PM. We're getting the corner booth and a bottle of Veuve."

I smiled despite myself. Some things never changed.

The elevator doors opened to reveal Gregory pacing our firm's reception area, his tie already loosened at 9:15 AM. "There you are," he exhaled, thrusting a tablet into my hands. "Summit Realty wants to scrap the entire west wing design. Sebastian Wilson himself called to—"

"Let me guess," I interrupted, scrolling through the revised plans. "More glass, less structural integrity?"

His grimace confirmed it. I squared my shoulders, the familiar thrill of an architectural challenge pushing aside personal worries. "Tell Jonathan Blake we'll meet them at the site at noon. And call Gabrielle—we'll need the revised load calculations before—"

The office phone rang shrilly. Gregory answered, then froze. His eyes locked onto mine with unsettling intensity. "It's Dr. Harrison. He says it's urgent."

The world tilted. Edward Martin had been hospitalized twice this year already. Nathaniel's grandfather was the only family member who'd welcomed me without reservation. My fingers trembled as I took the receiver.

"Evelyn," the physician's voice was taut. "It's not Edward this time. It's Nathaniel. There's been an incident at the construction site."

The receiver slipped from my grasp, clattering against the hardwood. Gregory's mouth moved, but all I heard was the blood roaring in my ears. The last coherent thought before the world went dark: Isabella had been at that site meeting too.

Richard and Victoria beamed as they stepped forward, the first to present their gift to Edward. It was an exquisitely carved wooden cane, polished to perfection.

"Happy birthday, Father. We hope it brings you comfort," Richard said warmly, while Victoria nodded in agreement.

Edward smiled approvingly. "Lovely."

Next came Nathaniel, who unveiled a custom-made chessboard crafted from rare emeralds, its intricate design drawing murmurs of admiration.

Then, it was Evelyn’s turn.

She handed Edward an oil painting, her voice soft but steady. "Grandfather, happy birthday."

Edward’s eyes lit up as he approached the painting, his affection for Evelyn evident. The guests exchanged knowing glances—everyone was aware of the bond between Edward and the Mitchells, so no one questioned her gesture.

Edward studied the artwork, his expression shifting to astonishment. "Evelyn… is this a Julian Mercer?"

Julian Mercer was a legendary artist, one of Edward’s lifelong favorites.

Evelyn nodded. "Do you like it?"

"Like it?" Edward chuckled, his voice thick with emotion. "I adore it. I’ve spent years trying to acquire one of his pieces at auction, but I never succeeded."

His excitement was palpable, and Richard and Victoria exchanged pleased smiles.

"I’m glad it brings you joy," Evelyn replied, her own happiness shining through.

"Would Sir Edward mind if we all admired it?" someone called out.

Evelyn glanced at Edward, who nodded. "It’s yours now, Grandfather. The decision is yours."

"Then let’s share it," Edward declared, carefully unveiling the canvas.

The painting depicted a breathtaking winter landscape—snow-capped mountains melting into crystalline rivers, the brushstrokes delicate yet bold, pulling the viewer into its serene world.

Gasps of admiration filled the room.

The moment was shattered by a sharp, skeptical voice.

"Are we sure this isn’t just a convincing replica? Evelyn only returned from the countryside last year. How could she possibly afford an original Mercer?"

The speaker was Audrey White, the heiress of the prominent White family, known for her sharp tongue and connections in high society.

A ripple of doubt spread through the crowd. Guests leaned in, scrutinizing the painting for flaws.

"It does look suspiciously perfect."

"An impressive imitation, but still a fake."

"Did Ms. Mitchell really deceive Sir Edward?"

The whispers grew louder.

Standing beside Audrey, Isabella tugged at her sleeve, feigning concern. "Audrey, don’t be harsh. Maybe Evelyn was tricked by a dealer. She wouldn’t knowingly give a fake."

Isabella hadn’t been invited—Audrey had brought her as a guest.

Audrey scoffed. "Isabella, you’re too forgiving. Deception is deception. My grandfather collects art—I know a counterfeit when I see one."

Most of the guests nodded, swayed by Audrey’s confidence.

All eyes turned to Evelyn, who remained composed, her expression unreadable.

She approached Edward and murmured, "Grandfather, you’ve been standing too long. Why don’t you sit and rest?"

Edward patted her hand. "Of course." He set the painting aside gently, his gaze lingering on it.

"Sir Edward, is the Mitchell family mocking you with a forgery?" someone dared to ask.

Edward’s smile vanished. Richard and Victoria stiffened, while Nathaniel’s gaze turned icy.

Before the Martins could respond, William spoke up. "Sir Edward, the Mitchells had no part in this. Evelyn… doesn’t consult us on anything. Rest assured, I’ll discipline her when we return."

He turned to Evelyn, his voice sharp. "Apologize. Now."

Evelyn didn’t move.

Margaret quickly added, "Please don’t judge the Mitchells by Evelyn’s actions. She’s only been back with us for a year. She keeps to herself—this was entirely her doing."

Margaret was desperate to distance the family, while William’s face burned with humiliation.

Before Evelyn could respond, Edward’s voice cut through the tension. "Enough. This is my birthday, not a courtroom. Even if it were a replica, I love it, and that’s what matters."

His words were firm, but Audrey wasn’t finished.

"Sir Edward, your kindness is admirable, but deception shouldn’t be excused. Evelyn owes everyone an explanation."

Isabella chimed in, her voice sweet. "Audrey, don’t be too harsh. Grandfather is just being gracious. Evelyn is still young."

Her words were meant to defend, but Evelyn knew better—they were orchestrating this.

Audrey, ever the provocateur, pulled Isabella forward. "Sir Edward, Isabella brought you a gift as well—an authentic Mercer. She went through great lengths to acquire it."

She thrust the painting toward Edward, but he didn’t take it.

Audrey froze. Isabella’s cheeks flushed. "Grandfather, happy birthday. If you like it, that’s all that matters. As for Evelyn’s painting… well, authenticity isn’t everything."

Edward’s tone turned frosty. "Ms. Davis, are you lecturing me now?"

His use of her surname was a clear dismissal.

Isabella’s lips trembled. She looked pleadingly at Nathaniel. "Nathaniel, you know I meant no disrespect. I turned down major contracts just to find this for Grandfather."

Nathaniel’s expression remained unreadable. He took the painting from Audrey and displayed it beside Evelyn’s.

The crowd gasped.

The two paintings were identical.

Nathaniel’s voice was calm as he addressed Edward. "Grandfather, Isabella put her heart into this. You can’t dismiss a lady’s effort so easily, can you?"

Edward remained silent, unmoved. Richard and Victoria exchanged glances but said nothing.

Nathaniel continued, "Isabella meant well. As for Evelyn’s painting—if you love it, keep it. Who are we to question that?"

Evelyn’s breath caught, her eyes locking onto Nathaniel’s in disbelief.